


AKA Bloody Mess

by Alexz6



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexz6/pseuds/Alexz6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica has a rough night, and Trish freaks out when she finds her the next morning.  It's a drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I, very obviously, do not own Jessica Jones, nor any of the character associated with it, or the Hellcat comics.
> 
> Also, I haven't really sat down and tried to write in a long time, and it's a bit like pulling teeth for me right now. However, there is a distinct lack of Trishica fics right now, and we need to get that number up. Maybe others will be like, "Wow, this sucks. Let's fix this, so our awesome ships isn't associated with shitty writing." And feel inspired to contribute works that are actually good.
> 
> I know this isn't strong Trishica, but I just need to ease into this before I even give this more thought.

AKA Bloody Mess

It was late. It was dark. She was sore, and she was tired.

After a long week of trailing a mark, her intel finally panned out. The low-life Hogarth had sent her after _finally_ revealed himself to be just as shady, and low-life-y as promised. Apparently, he was fighting charges while attempting to carry on with his illegal dealings. _Loser_.

The creep had been using young teens to pick up shipments of drugs from the docks and having them ride them out to some nondescript house in the city, where kids on bikes were not out of place. No one batted an eye when a group of teens riding crappy bikes tore through the park and stormed into a house that welcomed them with an open door.

The mark was short, as described in his file. _Napoleon complex_ , Jessica guessed as she watched him shout at the unlucky teen not moving out of his way fast enough. As he raised a fist, Jessica lowered her telephoto lens. Her dark eyes squinted with a frown, watching closely as a glint snapped up from his fist. A knife. The brunette, perched high atop one of the less secure warehouses near the dock, thighs tensed to launch her into non-flight across the short distance and into the midst of trouble.

And she released a heavy sigh as he brought that same knife down, not into the teen’s jugular as she had feared, but into the brick of cocaine in that very teen’s hands. He scooped some up to his nose, examining the product closely before taking a finger-full and rubbing it into his gums. After a pause, he shoved the teenager away. When the boy was out of reach, he turned and pulled one of the girls waiting to load her backpack closer by the hair. Her cry reached Jessica’s ears and she rolled her eyes.

 _You’ve got to save her_ , a very Trish-like voice sounded off in her head. Right on time. Jessica sighed, put her camera down, and jumped to land rather forcefully in front of a stunned crowd of teenagers and the grungy thugs that had been overseeing the distribution. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Her mark sneered at her, hand still firmly entangled in the girl’s hair. 

Directed at the girl, Jessica said, “I’m the idiot screwing up a paying job to rescue a kid. Run.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose, she decided as she pushed through the broken lock on her door. _Life would be a whole lot less painful if Trish hadn’t been so damn set on this me-becoming-a-superhero thing_. The brunette shuffled her way into the bathroom, and grimaced at her reflection. There was blood splattered across her forehead and shirt, and her knuckles were bruised. By now, it was closer to four in the morning and she was dead on her feet. Making an executive decision, the PI did a half-assed job washing anything that didn’t come from her from her face and hands.

Stopping only to grab a bag of peas from her freezer, Jess dropped heavily into bed, exhaling a weak, “Finally” as she let the peas sit against her side, and quickly nodding off.

~*~*~*~* The Next Morning*~*~ *~*~

Scrunching her face tightly as possible, Jessica didn’t know what woke her up first. Whether the bright light of day shining through her ramshackle blinds, piercing her eyelids with all the power of a hot poker through melted butter, or the unholy shriek that without a doubt, probably, called out to all the dogs within a ten-mile radius, she didn’t care.

The hands falling to her shoulders and shaking her roughly definitely didn’t help with her quest back into dreamland, though. So with a groan, Jessica scrunched her face one last time before prying her eyes open. Whoever the fuck broke into her place was in for a ruder awakening than the one they just put her through. Sitting up like Dracula rising from his coffin, Jessica put on her best glare, and pushed her best friend’s hands off of her shoulder.

“What. The. Ever-loving. Fuck, Trish?” 

“What? What is wrong with you? You are covered in blood? Oh, my god. Are you okay? Where are you hurt? Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Why didn’t you call me?” Trish fired off question after question, hands running over the brunette’s blood-soaked shirt and pushing the heavy leather jacket off her shoulders.

“What are you— Oh. Right. That.” Jessica sighed and dropped back down into her still-made bed. “There was an… altercation last night. I had to intervene.” Taking a quick glance at the blonde’s incredulous face, she went on, “It’s not mine. Well, not any more. My knuckles are fine now, see?”

Trish shoved away the wiggling fingers in her face. “And what about the peas? Just felt like a midnight snack?”

“Nah, one lucky bastard got a shot in with a tire-iron when my back was turned. Barely even sore now.”

Settling down, Trish took a deep breath before moving to lay down next to her friend, pausing suddenly. “Can you take that off? It’s gross and scared the crap out of me.”

From her prone position on the bed, Jessica smirked wide, wiggling out of the bloody tee. “I see. You just came over here to get me out of my shirt.”

“Uh-huh. Never mind that we had brunch plans that you were over an hour late for.”

Jess winced. “Shit, Trish. I am so sorry—”

“No, no.” The blonde turned to her side, and let her hand slap down on her friend’s abdomen. “After the mild heart-attack I just received, I forgive you. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Jessica let out a big breath, and turned her head eyeing the radio talk show host. “I really am sorry, Trish. I swear, I meant to get there. I think my phone is dead by now, too.”

Trish sighed, scooting her head onto the brunette’s shoulder. “It’s cool. This is nice, too.”

Jessica sighed again, eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah. It is.”

 

End.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Rachael Taylor’s picture of her rocking Jessica Jones' clothes instead of Trish's… it could not be helped. If I was a better writer, and less shy, this would’ve been dirty. As is, I cannot.

Chapter Two.

~*~*~*~ Hours Later~*~*~*~

The heavy, rich scent of coffee drifted Jessica awake much, much later. _Thankfully_ , she thinks to herself. She scrunches her face, wanting to fight off the waking world as long as possible.

“Jess,” and thus her battle is forfeit. Knowing her best friend won’t give up that easily but choosing to make a go of it anyways, the PI grunts and buries her face deep into her pillow. Only then does she realize the blonde had apparently claimed it when she chose to join her rather than push the brunch issue. Floral tones mixed with something that was just _Trish_ wafted into her sleepy brain.

“Jess, come on, you’ve gotta get up. You need to eat at some point today.” It would amaze Jessica how her blonde friend, capable of this irritating pitch, managed to enthrall most of the city for an entire hour every day… _would_ , if she didn't succumb to it so easily herself. 

Jess had been aware, from that moment in the bathroom, that despite her considerable strength, she’d always be weak to the whims of one Trish Walker. And prying an eye open, she found a new weakness. Trish Walker wearing her clothes. At some point, Trish Walker got up out of Jessica’s bed, stripped what were probably sleep-tousled designer clothes, and changed. Now she donned a pair of Jess’s few jeans that were still publicly decent, and the threadbare black tee probably only passed due to the black hoodie zip up tossed topping it all off.

“That’s my jacket.” Jessica mumbled into her pillow out the side of her mouth.

Trish snapped up from where she had been leaning over the brunette in her attempts to wake her. The hero for hire watched a blonde eyebrow climb as the talk show host's attitude seeped into her posture, hand raising a cup of coffee to her face, elbow resting against her side. “Well, yeah. I couldn’t exactly step outside in full Patsy garb and make it back before the coffee got cold.”

Jessica’s eyes trailed down her friend’s form. “Those are my boots.”

The blonde sighed heavily. “Jess, seriously. Get up.”

With another grunt, Jess finally pushed up into a sitting position. “I hate you sometimes.” Sheets pooled around her waist, leaving her chest uncovered but for a black, cotton bra.

Trish rolled her eyes, and threw a clean shirt at her friend’s head. “Yeah, well, that’s not what you said when—”

They froze. Jessica, arm raised through it’s appropriate hole in the shirt, head barely poking out. Trish, turned towards the bagel bag she had left on the corner table. It was quiet. It stayed quiet, Trish having closed her eyes, outstretched hand dropping.

Then the rustling started, softly, and Trish hanged her head. “Jess, I am so—”

A hand clasped around her wrist, cutting her off as she was spun around. Jessica stood there fully dressed, and pulled Trish closer with a serious face. Trish gnawed her lip, afraid of upsetting her friend further.

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole and wake me up whenever.” The smirk growing at the corner of her lips allowed Trish to take the breath she had been aching for since she’d been turned around.

“Actually,” feeling a shot of adrenaline, Trish continued. “I think it means I get to do exactly that.”

The amusement in brown eyes twinkled in a way Trish hadn’t seen in a long time. The breath was once again stolen from her as the brunette leaned closer. "Fine. But only if I get something in return.”

Breathlessly, eyes darting over her best friend's— god, this was her BEST FRIEND— face, she replied, “Like what?”

She wasn’t ready for it, Jess moved too fast. The peck landed on the very outer edge of her lips and was gone in a flash. “Like bagels, nerd.”

Stunned, Trish watched Jessica snatch the bag of bagels from the table and strut out to the desk in her living room/office. When she finally snapped out of it a, “Brat!” Slipped out, and she gallivanted off to join her other half in enjoying a much-deserved breakfast.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Legit just need to get Trishica out of my system...  
> I'm not promising anything, but it feels like an itch in my brain.  
> If you guys wanna pitch prompts in my tumblr, it's aka-anexz6 over there.  
> Someone save me from myself.


End file.
